


Readily Persuaded

by bespectacledwallflower



Category: Helix Waltz (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Canon-adjacent, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bespectacledwallflower/pseuds/bespectacledwallflower
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, and a terrible nephew, must be in want of a wife--if only to prove a point.





	1. Chapter 1

Magda Ellenstein wasn’t sure what she believed and didn’t like to dwell on it much. In her experience, it served her far better to investigate the opinions of whoever she happened to be speaking with at the time and try to mirror them exactly if asked to offer her thoughts on the subject. With her mother, she learned early to hold her tongue and say _Yes, Mother_ and _No, Mother_ with appropriate humility under threat of a stinging slap; at the public balls she attended day in and day out, she found herself saying she believed one thing to one person and then immediately turning around and offering the perfect opposite opinion to someone else. Lady Eliza always assured her daughter that her frequent self-contradictions would go unnoticed by most thanks to sheer ignorance and self-indulgence, and the rest who did notice would understand to say nothing about it. They all played the same game of favor-currying, and no one could condemn another for playing. Whatever ideals Magda held in truth, she’d buried beneath heaps of trivia about her consorts to keep herself and the family in decent standing.

It wasn’t all discombobulation for Magda: her maneuvering gave her access to the minds of people from all walks of life who believed many different things, and this was its own entertainment. Before she entered society, she knew very little about life beyond the Ellenstein home, but as she emerged to become a phenomenon of noble beauty among bourgeois and common crowds alike, she rapidly gained knowledge about everything in her expanding world—most of it somewhat secret, delivered in low voices or pulled from the mouths of people she lingered by in corridors. Her curiosity gave her a particular charm among many society-goers who were happy to answer her questions about everything, even if they saw through her fresh face to her less-than-innocent intentions. Without maintaining these alliances to garner gossip, Magda had no hope of re-establishing the Ellensteins in Finsel.

Being so entrenched in this amoral pursuit, it struck Magda as particularly interesting when she overheard Mr. Barris Sakan saying exactly what he meant. She was dawdling near him in a plush parlor one evening after hearing about a dispute between Mr. Barris and Chairman Linglan spill over into their encounters outside work, likely not for the first time. She’d only just stalked away, and though most of the onlookers were drifting away from the unfortunate scene Chairman Linglan had made, Magda saw the flitting eyes of the nobleman who reluctantly came up to Mr. Barris afterward and stayed behind to eavesdrop.

“I just wanted to thank you again for your help on my case,” the nobleman said, in the tone of a man unused to secrecy. He seemed to bend instinctively while talking to Mr. Barris, making the height difference between them even more comical.

The lawyer’s face did not move. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Magda could not keep her eyes from widening in embarrassment as she took a studied sip of champagne. The poor man!

The nobleman laughed, though whether with surprise or with familiar embarrassment Magda could not tell. “You are blunt as ever, Mr. Barris.”

“I’m just stating a fact.”

Clearly, no more conversation could be had after that cold dismissal. Magda wondered at Mr. Barris’ intentions as she watched the man quickly excuse himself. He was likely feeling snappish because of the fight with Chairman Linglan and had no quarrel with the nobleman, but Mr. Barris had a notorious reputation for sobriety and it seemed unusual that he would struggle to regain his composure for sake of retaining a client. Then again, the nobleman had said Mr. Barris was being _as blunt as ever_. He retained that stern expression every time she’d seen him before and didn’t notice anything particularly different in his tone. Tonight was the first time Magda had heard him raise his voice from its usual low timbre. It sent her and everyone watching into a minor state of shock—and it sent a remarkable shiver down Magda’s spine.

“Lady Ellenstein?”

She nearly yelped. Mr. Barris had crossed the modest distance between them while she wasn’t paying attention…and she was stupidly staring right at him as he did! “Mr. Barris! How do you do?”

To make matters worse, Mr. Barris did not immediately reprieve her of the burden of conversation. He looked at her expectantly but said nothing, leaving Magda entirely unsure of what he wanted to happen next. She decided her best course, just as in dance, was to wait for his lead, but his frank eye contact grew more and more unbearable. Magda tried to put on a casual smile, but she knew just how she looked: like a mouse caught in a bag of grain.

At last, Mr. Barris spoke: “Well, Lady Ellenstein?”

“Well, what?”

“Weren’t you going to ask me something?”

Magda did not have enough memorized trivia to even begin to think of an answer to this prompt. “Um—”

Perhaps if he’d been in a better humor, Mr. Barris would have chided her, as his nephew loved to do, but his sincerity stung Magda even more. “You’ve been looking at me from across the room for a considerable time.”

A mouse caught in a bag of grain, indeed, and now she feared the bag had tipped over onto the floor. How many other people had noticed her indiscretion? Magda took far too long to remember herself, but she did manage to recall why she had lingered so long. “Well…I saw what happened with you and Chairman Linglan and I wanted to ask about…your argument.”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose any details of the case.”

“No, I don’t mean—I don’t need details. I just wanted to know what would be so important as to elicit such a strong reaction from you, Mr. Barris.”

Mr. Barris’ face, which had been as smooth and placid as when he dismissed the nobleman out of hand, formed a ridge between the brows and a queasy line at the mouth. “Ah—I apologize, Lady Ellenstein. I hope that my outburst didn’t upset you.”

“No, not at all!” Magda interjected, relieved that she had the track of the conversation back at last. She could slip easily back into her sociable personality adopted for these parties instead of being exposed for what she was. “I don’t know very much about what goes on in Finsel’s courts. I’m just very—”

“—curious. Yes, that is your epithet.” Was it Magda’s imagination, or did he seem to stifle a smile? “Prejudice.”

Now it was Magda’s turn to fold her brow. “Prejudice?”

“Most people believe themselves to be thinking when they act only through their unexamined prejudices. I am…still sorting my prejudices from my rational conclusions.” Here he did smile and went on with a lighter voice. “It seems Chairman Linglan has proven wrong my first judgement of her character.”

“Oh, I see,” said Magda, though she could not, and her face betrayed it. Mr. Barris looked for a moment upon her face still holding that pleasant expression upon his own, and Magda realized she had also never seen _this_ face or heard _this_ voice before tonight, either.

He cleared his throat, and bemusement faltered into his usual stern mask. “It would do better to explain it all in more detail later. I’ve spent too long here tonight already.”

Madga’s heart dropped to her lower ribs. Barris was already walking towards the door to get his coat, and still hoping to sate her curiosity, she followed. “Oh—well I didn’t mean to keep you, Mr. Barris. I suppose I’ll ask you about it again when the case is resolved.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself with remembering for me. I’ll make sure to tell you,” he said, but not with the usual breeziness a person says _don’t trouble yourself_. The burden of conclusion had passed to him, and Magda purported that he must take _all_ his obligations very seriously. It vexed her that she would inadvertently add to his workload, but it warmed her to think that this would be an excuse for further conversation. Maybe on their next meeting she wouldn’t stare at him quite so much.

Unfortunately, it was already too late to set that goal, as Magda had once again stared for far too long at Mr. Barris while he put on his heavy coat. For a brief second, she imagined herself taking the coat into her own hands and sliding it over his shoulders, helping him push his arms through the sleeves. She’d need to stand on tiptoe to do it.

“I can’t yet give you the answer you deserve, but I will give it soon. Good night, Lady Ellenstein.”

Mr. Barris pushed open the great door, and the night air blew straight through Madga’s dress.

“Good night, Mr. Barris!” she cried after him, who gave a perfunctory nod Magda just managed to see before the door swung heavily shut.

Magda stood dumbly at the door, feeling strangely empty, and she downed her last drops of champagne.

 

* * *

 

 

Several days passed before Magda finally got her answer—to her slight disappointment, in the form of a letter, deposited on her pillow by the maid after a taxing social engagement. As the case grew more intense, Mr. Barris had gone into hiding, as he was wont to do, to devote himself wholly to work. Nobody had seen him or Chairman Linglan at any society events since their argument, and many speculated they simply didn’t want to risk seeing each other beyond necessity. But the letter brought a different excitement: this was the first real written correspondence Magda had shared with Mr. Barris, and she traced a finger over the wax seal marked with the Sakan bow and arrow. Upon breaking the seal, Magda found his penmanship filling the page with long, low letters in perfectly straight lines.

                       

Lady Ellenstein,

I am glad to find someone in Finsel curious about its legal system. Besides Chairman Linglan and myself, it seems that most people in our society circles live in ignorance about their nation’s judicial body, willful or unwitting. I am happy to answer your questions about my work, as far as I can provide information without breaching confidentiality.

The case in question is a private accusation of slander. The prosecuting party successfully sued the defendant on defamation charges in a trial by jury, whereas cases of slander, which usually fall under private disputes and not public trials, are more often tried by a single judge. Juries are more common in serious criminal cases where the opinion of the public being endangered by crime weighs heavily as a deciding factor. Bench trials are generally faster, less publicized, and more beneficial in misdemeanor cases since an expert in the law will make a more moderate and informed decision than a jury, which may react to a case with greater prejudice than an experienced judge. This is one of my arguments on behalf of the defendant: because different trial types yield different results, considering how the defendant will be judged by a group of laypeople as opposed to a single professional means that one trial is fairer than the other.

Though I reacted poorly to Chairman Linglan’s confrontation, I realized that she raises an interesting ethical point. I outlined my own biases regarding types of trials in types of cases, but this is also just the usual way things are done, and this case stood out to me as a deviation from the norm. I may come up with whatever justifications I like to explain the status quo, but the mere fact of its being unusual does not mark this case as worthy of judging by my prejudice. In a case of slander, my bias says that the dispute is between the accuser and the accused, and nobody else need know the details. But Chairman Linglan sees a different view of a slander trial. If one person may be ruined socially by the words of another, then that same person has the means to destroy the lives of many people, a fact which I do not disagree with. Our dispute comes down to whether we believe these problems can be resolved through court, and in what way we ought to approach them.

Until this case is closed, I doubt that I will be seeing you, but I do hope we will be able to speak again soon. I hope that this satisfied a small part of your varied and insatiable curiosity.

            Regards,

Barris Sakan

 

Madga began reading the letter before she went to bed each night. Its brevity and logical progression soothed the anxieties of the day, and though several times she’d overheard his conversations with fellow men of law riddled with terms she didn’t understand, Mr. Barris had given her an explanation which met her where she was and gave her something to think about. Though still painfully aware of her ignorance about law, Mr. Barris made it sound like something both interesting and important, and not wholly beyond Magda’s capacity for learning. She thought of things to pull from the letter to bring up with him when she saw him again: _What are other types of cases tried by judge and not jury? What types of people are selected for juries? Have you gone up against Chairman Linglan before?_

And Magda, after putting the letter down and blowing the candle out, would stare up at her bed curtains and wonder how she would answer Mr. Barris when he asked what she believed. Here was a person who knows the answer he gives, and who must also temper his answers—but not because he must please the judge or the client by his opinions, but because he must strive for a higher ideal than himself.

Magda knew she still thought like the girl Eliza Ellenstein had plucked from the slums to some extent. She didn’t think to strive for a higher ideal than kindness, which she questioned in her ambiguous actions all the time. What would she become if she had something larger than her survival in this life too lavish for her birthplace, the one she was slapped and sucked and pointed into by forces larger and more mysterious than herself?

This was not a question she could ask Mr. Barris when they met again, but she wanted to. She liked to think that he would know just what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't meant to be referencing a specific Austen novel or even an alternate universe--I just think the way he initially comes off as cold reminds me of Darcy, but I also get a Captain Wentworth vibe and kind of a Colonel Brandon vibe from him too? I'm probably just projecting because those are my three favorite Austen suitors, but in any case, I kept thinking about all the Austen I read whenever I'd open a new chapter in the quest and I needed to make it happen for myself to see the story play out with enough detail to render it comparable to my favorite Austen stories. I won't try to write like Austen, necessarily; we need more description now than what she provided to her contemporary audience and it's too lofty a goal, anyway. But I WILL be listening to the P&P 2005 soundtrack on repeat while I write this one.  
> Also, I pulled some of @gdcee's extrapolation about the case Barris and Linglan dispute over, since the game seems to be deliberately vague about it.
> 
> (Bonus English major geek shit: The awkward conversation between Barris and Magda in Ch. 2 of the favor quest arc feels like a direct reference to P&P with the roles reversed: “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”)


	2. Chapter 2

After many weeks of half-truth gossip passing from one ear to another about Chairman Linglan and Mr. Barris’s contended case, a word of finality finally spread: though nobody could root out any information about it damning enough to be lucrative, the case was closed and beyond any further dispute. Many guessed at the identities of the parties involved, and the plaintiff was likely one of Chairman Linglan’s business partners, though nobody could distinguish one suspect above the other. The whole event passed altogether into smoke once both the chairman and the lawyer popped back up at society events with their prior amicability restored, and everything continued as before.

Magda, though she knew no more than anyone else did, felt great relief at hearing the news, even if it had passed through many mouths unconfirmed by Mr. Barris himself. She asked her mother about what she knew about the situation at breakfast the next morning and was met with Lady Eliza’s nonchalance—preferable to her rage, but of little help to Magda.

“You likely know more about it than I do, Magda. You’re the one out in society where all the news circulates.” Lady Eliza reached for a piece of toast, and Magda thought the scratch of the butter knife matched her mother’s personality very well.

Magda caught her elbows before they could rise too far above the table. “Yes, Mother, but you are not ignorant to the things I hear about.” _She doesn’t know everything I know, but about certain subjects,_ she thought, _I wish Mother would be more forthright with me._

“What makes you so curious about this case? I never believed you to be interested in matters of law.”

Magda hesitated, for she wasn’t sure herself, and took a long sip of tea to buy some time. She decided to say, “I wish to learn more about it. You say it’s good for a lady to be well-informed about all manner of subjects.”

“Just as long as they don’t lead her to trouble,” Lady Eliza cautioned. “But this is good, Magda. Law is a subject far safer than some I’d fear would pique your interest, even if you cannot practice it.”

They ate in silence for a moment, and the maid came in to bring the morning mail to Lady Eliza: the usual smattering of invitations and the same strange recurring letters from anonymous friends and admirers addressed to Magda. Thumbing through the stack of envelopes, Lady Eliza spoke up abruptly.

“This wouldn’t be you trying to get close to Barris Sakan, would it?”

Magda reddened with such rapidity that Lady Eliza could not doubt it, but Magda spoke up anyway. “I-I simply wish to know more about what he does—he is quite taciturn at times and I know little about him, except when I ask about…his work.”

In trying to prove her innocence, Magda only confirmed her mother’s suspicions, but Lady Eliza’s face did not pucker at her clumsiness.

“I am perfectly alright with this pursuit, Magda, as long as you don’t let yourself become foolish about him. You must let _him_ be fascinated by _you_ if this is your course.”

“Mother, please—”

“But if what you tell me is true and he’s already sent you a letter, then he may be well on his way to entrancement.”

Magda balled her hands around her napkin laid in her lap, ears burning hot with humiliation. It felt so strange hearing her mother speak so frankly about what she herself had scarcely realized, and stranger still for Magda to hear her desires encouraged by her overprotective guardian. Lady Eliza kept talking while Magda felt her embarrassment boiling in her face like a forgotten teakettle.

“He is a very serious man and rather unlike the rest of his family, but he is of an age where I would be unsurprised to hear he was looking to marry. Perhaps even a little past, but that would not be unsuitable for such a man. Mr. Barris is well-established and would make an excellent catch. You will have to compete with many other ladies for his attention once word gets out of his intentions to wed. Beginning to suggest that he woo you before this happens is a good stratagem. I do hope he decides to wed soon, for your sake. Men can marry women at whatever age they like, but women have such a small slot…ah, well, if you don’t marry into the Sakans that would also please me. At least I wouldn’t have to fear scandal tainting us by extension, though Mr. Barris remains relatively unscathed by all the dalliances of his nephew.”

Magda couldn’t take any more talk of this marriage, but her tongue was stopped by something she could not unblock. She looked up at her mother with pleading eyes until Lady Eliza finally saw the impact of her lecturing and changed the subject.

“But that’s enough of the Sakans’ business. You have many engagements today, Magda. I won’t have you neglecting any of them.”

“Yes, Mother,” Magda said, and stood right away to relieve herself of this one.

 

Busy days for Magda meant multiple carriage rides back and forth to pay visits and attend teas and luncheons in one outfit, returning home to dress for the evening, and back out again in higher heels and a tighter corset for the evening balls. When she finally got home after dark, Magda would feel herself about to burst from the compression of her costume. She longed to wear nothing but her slip and lay in bed reading and eating chocolates, and she would fantasize about her day of freedom in nights where she was too hungry to sleep.

This was the great irony of her life: one might hope that after being plucked from poverty by a wealthy patron that the days of hunger were far behind her, but Lady Eliza feared her charge too susceptible to weight gain because of her sweet tooth and often bade her to eat only bites of food, if not banning dinner altogether. Magda supposed she liked to see her slender shape in the mirror and heard rumors of how favorably her measurements compared to other women in the Book of Finsel’s Beauties, but this was someone else’s body in someone else’s dresses. The girl in the mirror sometimes appeared as a stranger to her.

 _That letter!_ It had set off a chain of questioning in Magda that she now felt unable to stop, and they were sure to spill out eventually. She had even begun to allow herself to phrase them aloud—only whispered to an empty room, directed at no one, but even this seemed like too great a risk. Yet Magda felt great relief in simply saying with her own voice the thoughts that came into her head. Laying in bed at night, she would watch the moonlight pass through her window and illuminate the wallpaper, the armoire, the patterns in the carpet, the curtains around her bed, and the letter, which she kept on the nightstand. There was nothing scandalous in there, after all, and the maids would have little interest in such a document. And the moonlight would rest on the broken wax seal, and Magda would whisper,

“When I leave this house, I will eat cakes every day and never tightlace my corset again.”

“I think that lady is a snob and I hate having to smile at her and say pleasantries.”

“I want to walk up to that man and stomp on his love letter when he says things like that to me.”

“I don’t know who I am, or who I was, or if I ever will know.”

The words tasted—not sweet, but like the promise of something sweet, stolen in the night like truffles from a hidden box. But Magda had no time to dwell on her midnight utterances now. She had only an hour left to prepare for the ball tonight where Mr. Barris was said to be attending, and she wanted greater control of herself when she talked to him this time. Magda knew just how she would wear her hair to give her the poise she needed: swept off her neck, but with a few curls pulled to soften her face, and studded with pearls.

* * *

 

It was a lively ball, and a less formal affair than Magda had expected; she felt conspicuously overdressed, but of course the ladies she met assured her that she looked radiant, which is what Magda feared they would say. She started drinking a bit too early to compensate and chose whiskey over her usual wine, but blessedly avoided wobbling in her heels.

Already an hour had passed before she caught sight of Mr. Barris, and it was just the back of a head that could have been him standing alone on the balcony. When Magda squinted through the glass, she resolved that it was his same strawberry blonde and thought, _Very strange. How long has he been out there alone?_ He was no social butterfly, but anyone raised among nobility needed to develop protections against their own standoffishness—but then again, those raised noble could most easily get away with breaking that rule, especially of the Four Families.

Magda thought of her mother and her wild speculations that morning, and she contemplated getting another drink to steel her nerves and forget about the prying eyes which might make more of their conversation than she wished. Magda simply desired to know more about the conclusion of the case and assure him of her continued interest in the subject (and nothing else!).

Besides, what did it matter if she had some small feelings for him? Such a serious man would have to make up his own mind about romance first, and Magda did not anticipate that anytime soon.

 

She managed to slide the door open silently and ease it shut, and the sounds of the ball surrendered to the quiet country evening. The chill in the air cut straight through her warm haze of whiskey, but Magda welcomed it, as she often overheated at balls. The stars were so beautiful away from the city that Magda felt pulled further out into the night to meet them, and she stepped out onto the balcony in a trance, eyes fixed on the sky. She had taken astronomy lessons as a child, but retained nothing from her courses, and tonight she regretted the loss sorely, to have to be content to find uncharted shapes in the plethora of celestials.

“Lady Ellenstein?”

Mr. Barris’ voice fell softly on her ear and she rushed to regain her composure. How was it that every time she hovered around him hoping to catch his attention Mr. Barris still caught her by surprise? He hadn’t even turned his head to see who it was, and yet he knew.

“How did you know it was me?”

He—chuckled? “The sound of heeled shoes on marble tiles is very distinctive.”

 _But every woman here is wearing heels—and several men besides!_ “Did I intrude, Mr. Barris?”

“Not at all.” Mr. Barris finally turned to receive his guest, and Magda noticed the nearly-empty glass in his hand. _Big hands_ , she noted, but shooed the uncomfortable observation away as quickly as it appeared. “Did you come to ask me something?”

 _He always thinks people require something of him to want his company._ Magda decided to abandon her scripted plan to inquire about further matters of law. To her surprise, an honest answer came easily. “I just noticed that you were by yourself.”

Their eyes met in the brief silence that followed. What color were his eyes? In the dim moonlight it was difficult to tell. Perhaps they were blue, a dark blue one could mistake for gray. _Stormy eyes_ , Magda’s unhelpful brain supplemented.

She spoke up again, voice pitched higher by her returning nerves. “If you don’t desire my company, I can leave you. I won’t take offense.”

“No, stay if you wish.”

Another silence filled the balcony. Her fingers tightened on her glass. “Well—what are you doing here on the balcony alone, then? If I may ask that.”

Mr. Barris raised his glass slightly. “Having a drink.”

It had surprised her to see a drink in his hand, but perhaps that was why he was hiding from the party. “I don’t hear of you drinking often, Mr. Barris.”

He looked down into the bottom of the glass, almost shy. “I often don’t. But alcohol can have its merits.”

“Quite true.”

Both seemed to feel a great companionship with the dregs in their hands. Magda especially felt keen on whiskey tonight, but she knew it was foolish to drink it. Wine made her sociable, but whiskey made her affectionate, and suddenly she had to tell Mr. Barris anything which might suggest the unnamed gravity she felt thinking of him.

“Thank you for the letter. It answered my question very well.”

“Well, good. I’m glad I could help.”

“But the trouble is,” Magda said, too quickly, “that now I have even more questions.”

“Oh? What about?” He was _smiling_.

Magda hesitated. ‘Everything’ would be saying too much, but she said it anyway. “All manner of things, really. But some of them would be unfair to expect an answer of you.”

“Why unfair?”

“Well—not all of my questions deal specifically with legality and I wouldn’t entreat you to speak beyond your means.”

Mr. Barris sat against the balcony railing with a quizzical bemusement on his face. He seemed younger somehow. Magda didn’t know what to make of it at all.

“Test me, Lady Ellenstein. Neither of us are one-trick horses.”

Magda flushed. It seemed that for all her desire to speak to Mr. Barris, when faced with the opportunity she could not bring herself to be direct. Facing the window, she could see him much better with the yellow light of the ongoing ball. His eyes were blue after all—and he had a faint dusting of freckles on his nose. He nearly looked boyish with this expression. She started to speak, but she saw his expectant face turned up towards her and diverted to a nervous laugh.

Mr. Barris took it in stride. “Let me ask you a question, then. I assume you wanted to inquire about the case again.”

Magda opened her mouth to protest, but she couldn’t think of an answer in time to cut Mr. Barris off. He leaned in slightly, and Magda stood transfixed.

“So tell me this: what is the purpose of the law?”

She wrinkled her nose. Magda wasn’t sure that her thoughts about the law made any difference about its existence. “It keeps people from doing wrong, yes?”

“Religious codes perform much the same function, if you mean doing wrong in the moral sense.”

Magda shook her head to clear the fogginess she felt growing in it. “I should have said ‘incorrect’ instead of ‘wrong,’ I suppose.”

Mr. Barris had not moved his eyes from her face. “So you believe that laws stand to correct people, then.”

“Yes?”

“To what purpose?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why define correct and incorrect behaviors and enforce them?”

Magda squirmed and raised her glass to her lips. “Perhaps you should tell me _your_ beliefs, and then I could better interpret my own.”

Mr. Barris drew back, and though she was glad for the change of direction, Magda wished he would come back so she could look at the freckles on his nose again.

“Law is the last protection the mighty can offer the weak.”

He let it hang in the air for a moment. Magda smiled.

“I thought at first that—well.” Mr. Barris cleared his throat, suddenly hesitant after speaking so definitively. The sentence seemed to fight its way out. “I’ve found that you are not one of the weak who need protection, and I am glad of it.”

Magda felt her throat catch. “So you count me among the _mighty_ , then?”

Mr. Barris did not turn to look at her, but at the space between their feet on the ground. “I do.”

She found herself staring at the same spot. “Well, I thank you, but I fail utterly to see how you drew that conclusion. I have no great education or accomplishments, and I feel…very small.”

“Whether you realize it or not, you are an expert in your field, Lady Ellenstein.”

Magda looked up to find that so had Mr. Barris, and seemed waiting to meet her eyes again, the edges of his mouth set with something Magda couldn’t call a smile, but it bent towards her, as if leaning close to hear something distant and secret. On her left she heard crickets in the garden, and on her right the muffled din of the ball, which continued perfectly well without them.

The bowstring broke, and Magda shivered with an unexpected violence. Both shrugged back into their bodies and persons and found themselves surprised to still be out on the balcony.

“It’s gotten quite cold!” Magda said in a laugh, drawing her bare arms about her. “I hadn’t noticed at all!”

Mr. Barris finished his glass.

It was impossible to stay, but Magda did not want to leave the balcony without him. “Will you come back inside with me? For another drink?”

“I think not, Lady Ellenstein.”

He’d shrunk back into coldness again. Would he stand out here all night? “Well, I am glad to see you in good health, Mr. Barris.”

She paused for a beat, which he did not care to fill with his own pleasantries.

“I haven’t written a response to your letter yet.”

This pricked his ears. “Will you?”

Magda’s heart surged. _He’s asked something in return_. “I will. Very soon.”

* * *

 

Mr. Barris,

I am not experienced in letter-writing, so I do it with no confidence in myself, and I cannot bring myself to write this at the desk in our study because it feels far too exposed. It faces a window which overlooks the street and I can see footmen, servants, merchants, and carriages passing by all the time, and though I know it ridiculous, I fancy that they are all watching my face wrinkle with concentration while I very slowly scratch these words. I have stolen the quill and ink to write my response on the vanity desk before my mirror, so the only person watching me struggle to think is myself.

I think most nobles seem ignorant about law because they have not heard your philosophy or knew there was a philosophy to the interpretation of law. I did not until you asked me my own, and I had no answer to give. I presumed whatever my feelings on the matter were would do little to change the established order of things, so I did not cultivate them. But I should not assume that my feelings have no bearing on the world, because my feelings influence my actions to some degree, and this has consequences for myself and others. You said that you must continually re-examine your biases in your work because you make weighty decisions about the lives of others as a career. But all people ought to think deeply about their biases, because even if less impactful than yours, the decision of any person has a rippling effect throughout the world (like the defendant in your slander trial being able to undo others according to Chairman Linglan), and it all has to do with their upbringings.

I believe that my initial impression of law is based in correctness as its own end because that is how I was raised. My mother trains me very well in the art of being ladylike, but rarely does she give reason or explanation for the behaviors I must adopt. To her, it is simply the way things are, and I must either accept the status quo or become an outcast. The Lady’s Handbook is the code of law in my house, and my mother is a strict police force. (This is not an insult to my mother. I believe she would agree with me in this characterization.) So I am full of all of these questions about every little thing, and I ask everyone I meet to help me answer them. I suppose I am working to undo my biases as well, though they have not gone away, and I retain them when I try to think of higher things than trivia.

I envy your education. I love to read, but my thoughts fizzle away quickly when I cannot articulate them to someone else. If that would not impose upon your time, I would love to continue conversing as we did the last time we met, and perhaps through these letters as well. So that this does not grow overlong, I will end by saying that I thank you for your patience with my clumsiness, in word and thought. I hope to learn to tread them gracefully, as I learned to walk in high heels.

Graciously,

Lady Magda Ellenstein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...They named him Barris because he's a BARRISter. I've never felt so stupid as the day I figured that out, because it took me way too long.  
> Maybe the secret to getting me to commit to a multichapter fanfiction is to make it SO slowburn I can't take it and I have to keep going to give MYSELF closure. Let's see if it works.


	3. Chapter 3

Lady Ellenstein,

Your description of the desk in the window sounds similar to my own home, though my desk does not face a public street. I can understand how one would feel surveilled by all who passed, but you need not worry about the quality of your letters to me. Though some self-proclaimed wits do enjoy releasing edited volumes of their correspondence, I will promise not to publish if you also promise the same. I would recommend that you rearrange your study if possible, however, because I cannot imagine that the table of a vanity has very much space for composition.

You are quite right in your assertion that noble circles do not foster enough self-reflection. I may presume by saying this was your meaning, but I believe we agree, and you use milder words than I possess to describe the atmosphere of complacency among nobles. One of the luxuries of wealth and establishment is a lack of required investment in one’s own convictions. The rich may live without thought, and the poor are too degraded to expend precious energy on it. Your attachment of philosophy to upbringing seems to contradict my own path, but my education was the catalyst for change. Leaving my home to study beyond Finsel allowed me to see my life at a distance with an objective eye, and this reversed my earlier, more ignorant beliefs with extreme effectiveness. Everyone ought to be afforded the same opportunity. Your reading and persistent inquiry is a solid beginning.

I regret that you did not feel you could ask questions to your mother, Lady Ellenstein. If she is your sole authority figure, that makes it even more difficult to be denied answers. I can see what a toll our situation has taken on Barbara, but it is impossible for me to provide her any explanation, and in my younger recklessness I was absent for much of her early life traveling and striving for my own sake. I hope that when she enters society fully, she may be enriched by her encounters and return in one piece, even without the strict training that you received as a debutante. To my knowledge, Juven never acquired a copy of The Lady’s Handbook for Barbara, so we have no familiarity with its statutes. May I borrow it from you for a brief period?

Your conversation is never a burden to me. Write as often as you like, and I will reply with all speed.

Barris Sakan

* * *

 

Mr. Barris,

We have multiple copies of the Handbook scattered throughout the Ellenstein home, so this old one will not be missed. You may keep it if you wish, though trying to convince Barbara to read it may be an impossible task. I believe I gave you the version which my mother bade me to reread in full and include detailed notes in the margins when I was thirteen and obstinate. I hope my poor juvenile penmanship will not distract you.

This was rude of me, but I laughed aloud when you mentioned your “younger recklessness.” I can’t believe that you were ever reckless about anything! But though you may have regrets, you shouldn’t dwell on them. There was no way you could have known what was to come. You were thinking of your schooling, which is essential to your work, and to your heart, I imagine. At any rate, your reputation hasn’t suffered accusations of thoughtlessness or disorderly conduct to my knowledge. With me, you have never failed to demonstrate great consideration and respect, for which I am continually grateful. ~~I begin to wonder~~

Forgive the blot; I was frightened by a bee. Don’t laugh! I’m not writing at my vanity today—Duchess Jorcastle invited me to take tea in the garden with her and encouraged me to bring along my own work, as she prefers to employ her mind in the open air. She says it’s good for generating new ideas, and while I cannot yet say definitively if I agree, I love that spring is on the way. Though I write with a blanket on my lap against the open air, I believe this has been the warmest day of the month, and the Jorcastle garden already looks lovely. The Duchess took a turn about the path with me and identified every plant she had brought in from the luxury greenhouses for this purpose. She smiles more when looking at her flowers.

The entanglements of noble families seem just as complicated as common families, which could almost be a comfort to us. Even a wholly-assembled family may be broken in its own ways. I had only a matriarch, and Barbara had the Viscount—but I believe in both our cases, we grew without pain too great to prevent us from living well. Even if a little unusual compared to other noble ladies, I think Barbara is a wonderful girl and I wouldn’t desire her to be anyone other than who she is. Her spirited nature and frankness of mind have come to my rescue in many uncomfortable situations. Her friendliness reminds me of the Viscount, and her decisiveness reminds me of you.

Speaking of that, I wonder how you would answer this question: does education generally temper a person’s inclinations or reinforce them? I believe a lady’s education tempers her inborn nature, or at least works to tamp it down in favor of polite conversation. With men it may be different, but I would not know without asking one—namely, you. Forgive me if I evaluate you falsely, but I imagine you as being much the same now as you were when you were younger, while I feel I’ve changed a great deal in my growing up. I would hardly recognize my older self, had I met her at a more tender age.

You should not have given me leave to write as often as I would like, because that will be too much! Though I have no skill in letters, I like writing them very much, and with the practice I develop, my confidence will only grow, and then I will only write to amuse myself. I don’t want that to become my purpose in penning letters—after all, letters exist between two people for the sake of the other half of the pair. The look of the letters on the page is the substitute face of the person who penned them, as if to say, “I am sorry I could not be with you to tell you these things, but hold me up to the light, look at my shapes and their movements, and just as you watch my face and hear my voice, so you may still see and hear me upon this paper, your spirit friend.”

I rather like that phrase. I think that is how I will end my letter to you, and any further letters until I receive your reply (though I would like to send you a dozen in the meantime).

Your spirit friend,

Lady Magda Ellenstein

* * *

 

Lady Ellenstein,

You say you “have no skill in letters,” but you write very well. The pleasure you take in writing shines through your words with enthusiasm, and I take great pleasure in reading them.

Thank you for the book. I enjoyed your helpful marginalia and graphite doodles. I’ve had to be very careful about when I read it because Barbara and Juven love to tease me whenever I do something they deem unusual, but it has been a revelatory study. Though I never believed that grace came naturally to women, the lengths to which a lady must observe herself extend far beyond what I imagined. Many rules also go blatantly unobserved in practice; gossip in Finsel is barely disguised even in public, so I cannot imagine how ladies are expected to avoid it at all costs and be very shocked when confronted by it. I am glad etiquette is not law, because we would be fining and jailing every citizen of Finsel, and the current penal system is under enough pressure as it is.

You are right that I should not dwell on the past and feed my regret. That is one of my continual faults. I am glad to be here for Barbara now and begin to repay the debt I owe her as her kin. I fear more for her safety and reputation than you, but we’ve yet to see whether her spirit is stronger than my worry. You are also right that I need continual study as a part of my life, which is fortunate considering my profession. Many of my days are spent reading the same set of books over and over, trying to see what I missed. If I did not find some enjoyment in that, I would quickly lose my sense. There is some comfort in believing that the world can be understood and bettered not through superstition, but in dedication to studying what is real. Not everything can be found in books, but most of what concerns me lies within their pages—which, I think, is why I have avoided trouble and others in my lineage have reveled in it.

To answer your question, I am unsure to what degree an education may interfere with the personality traits of the student. There is a great difference between a lady’s education and a gentleman’s. Though both genders of a certain status may learn many of the same subjects, I believe a lady’s education incorporates aspects deemed optional for men, like etiquette. I have never had an etiquette class, nor known a man to participate in one, but perhaps it ought to be encouraged for both sexes. We have expectations of behavior as everyone does, but rather than learn formally we acquire habits by imitation or by discipline from authorities and are not expected to be pillars of politeness to the same degree, as relaxed as that expectation truly is. I suppose you never grew up with brothers, so you would not have witnessed the discrepancy for yourself, but in my experience (though limited), boys are taught subjects and girls are taught accomplishments, and they are treated as such through adulthood. A young woman’s knowledge of languages is ranked at the same level as her skill with instruments as an amusement for herself and those who appraise her, while a young man can interact with the world through his knowledge meaningfully. Nobles do not have careers unless they desire them, and though men and women in Finsel have used their education for their chosen professions, I have observed that men have a much lower expectation of performance in their field than careerwomen. But this has little to do with a person’s natural inclinations. A lady’s etiquette education certainly discourages inappropriate behaviors, but its effectiveness likely lies mainly in how much trouble she finds by transgressing norms and how these impact her. I have known women so anxious that a simple mistake sends them into throes of sobs, and women so bullish that no consequence could hinder them from speaking their minds and stepping on toes as often as they please. Wherever on the spectrum you fall, Lady Ellenstein, if you feel altered by your education, it is not because it has overcome you. Human nature by rule cannot be wholly subsumed into the desire to assimilate—which, arguably, is another way of saying that the law is the last protection the mighty can offer the weak.

It is also only natural to change as you age, and you do not deny your “true self” by realizing this. Though you say you cannot imagine it, I used to be very different as a boy. Willful, as all children are, and sullen—I would burst into tears when I did not get my way, and I once got thrashed for fighting another boy my age in one of these tantrums. I was always preoccupied with fairness, but mostly because I wanted what was fair for me. I have retained a certain constancy of temperament, but adulthood brings a greater capacity for self-awareness. I am not necessarily a better person than I was, but I have more practice.

I did not expect Tilla Jorcastle to have a fondness for flowers. The Sakan estate’s pride is the hunting grounds, but we also have a garden, populated largely with roses. I believe we will begin planting and pruning soon so the new bushes of roses will bloom in full during the summer. ~~Perhaps you would like~~

I like your imagination of the letter as the face of the person who penned it. Words often seem dead on the page to me because they are unalterable; they do not stutter or weave back and forth in conversation as spoken dialogue does, but the delay of letters results in a different manner of speaking. A person may select their words more carefully and finish a thought to its completion in writing. A face may betray more in person, or not give enough away, but if a letter is a face, then a letter is the best face one can display—or the precise face the author desires the reader to see, solidified by time and distance.

You are very clever to have come up with a new valediction for letters. I think I will use it myself.

Your spirit friend,

Barris Sakan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing "happens" in this chapter, but why do people read stories where "things" "happen"? Is it not enough to see repression, huge?  
> I hate that the game Twitter teases information. Like we know which characters have January birthdays, but we only know a few precise dates like Barris' on the 12th. I need ALL the dates so I can snoop on their zodiac charts!! It's very important to me!! How else will I decide who's actually shippable if I don't know their ruling planets?  
> By the way, since Barris is a Capricorn in the 3rd decan (which means Mercury features heavily in his chart and aligns him more closely with other Mercury signs like Gemini and Virgo), I decided I wanted him and Magda to have a Cap/Virgo dynamic since that's one of the most stable pairs in the zodiac, even though Magda seems more like a Libra in-game to me. Austen likes stability and mental equality/compatibility, and a major feature of that particular pair is their natural rapport.  
> (It's not important that I'm a Virgo shut up mind your business if I'm projecting that's my right)


	4. Chapter 4

Magda, like most everyone else, retained her impression of Barris Sakan as reserved, composed, and habitually thinking before acting even as their friendship deepened through their frequent correspondence. So it was all a great shock to her, as it was to everyone, when he knocked a man unconscious with one cracking punch.

It began with the threatening letter which Magda felt too proud to tell her mother about, and for which she berated herself for days after the fact. If she had trusted her fear and told her mother right away, they could have contacted the Patron and hushed the whole thing away, with no broken vase or pricking needle hidden in the handkerchief— _but no,_ Magda thought, _we made fools of ourselves. I became a victim for trying to put on a brave face and keep Mother from worrying, and poor Mr. Barris…_

 

As had become her habit, that day at the ball Magda kept an ear out for his voice or a glimpse of him, but she found no sign of his presence despite his guaranteed attendance by Finsel's top gossip. Miss Kelly had, of course, seen their conversation on the balcony two weeks before and seized upon Magda for every detail of their attachment, insisting it was better to deliver directly to the most infamous transmitter of covert information in Finsel than force her to rely upon outside sources. Magda naturally said nothing of consequence, but resisting her speculation was futile. Miss Kelly could see Magda’s admiration plainly on her face, and nothing enthralled her more than the thought of throwing them together, at least in imagination, through her rumors. She even incorporated Chairman Linglan as a potential point in a love triangle. “I think we both know an easy solution to _that_ problem, Lady Ellenstein,” she said, Magda _hoped,_ just to turn her stomach and see her flush deep red.

Hearing new gossip about herself had not been Magda’s purpose in greeting Miss Kelly. She had a new conundrum to untangle involving the Ellenstein claim to the land beneath the Sky Church cathedral, currently thwarted by the Paola family’s crime bosses. Involvement with the church in any capacity would be good for the Ellensteins, and _saving_ the church even better—but the sight of the villagers missing extremities and family members and laying in cots in the middle of the chapel motivated Magda more than anything, and no mob threats could stand in her way when she had such decided. Kelly, as she had suspected, was too distractible to be of help to her investigation. Dear Captain Alan, who became so suddenly sheepish when Magda said hello, had no word for her, either, and Viscount Sakan berated Magda for bringing up such a dreary, pedestrian topic at a ball.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you mention it,” he said airily, and the undercurrent beneath his remark came through clearly in the subtle change of his expression Magda had come to recognize. ‘ _I hope you haven’t been talking about the Paolas' mafia to everyone in attendance.’_

Magda swallowed her excuse. He could hear it well enough.

The Viscount sighed and folded his arms, cast a flitting glance about the grand ballroom with clever green eyes, and tossed Magda her first lead of the evening. “If you do insist on such a dreadful subject, you will have better luck trying to find my uncle. He has a wealth of boring but useful information.”

“Mr. Barris? Is he here?”

“You haven’t seen him?” The Viscount seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. “That’s typical behavior. If not for the unfortunate accident of our fortunate birth, he would never leave the house or speak to anyone. Maybe he’s hiding in the garden.”

Magda hastily thanked Viscount Sakan and made another survey of the ball. She still could not find Mr. Barris, but now that she had made herself obvious in her search, a footman appeared at her side with an attentive upturned glance.

“Pardon me, my lady, but are you looking for someone?”

“Yes, have you seen Mr. Barris Sakan this evening?”

“Indeed, I am one of his attendants.”

“I must speak with him about a very important matter, if you wouldn’t mind telling me where he is.”

“Of course, my lady, but I had better escort you to him myself. If you will follow me?”

 

The footman led her across the ballroom, through the broad glass-paned doors, and onto the grand house’s stone steps leading down to the lawn. Madga grew uneasy the farther from the din of the ball they walked, and at last she asked the footman where they were going.

“Mr. Barris is in the garden, my lady, and instructed me to find you and bring you thence to discuss the matter of the Sky Church land.”

So the footman was aware of Magda’s concern. The Viscount had suggested the garden, but it sounded more like a joke than a genuine possibility. It was fully dark outside, and nobody had lit the garden for viewing. From what little Magda could see, nothing was yet in bloom. But if that was where Mr. Barris was, then she would keep following the footman until they could confer, even into the thickening darkness of the lawn. He kept a respectable distance ahead of Magda, and his dark suit and hair were fading into the deep shadows of the distant trees.

The footman led her all the way to the edge of a hedge maze, around which he turned a sharp corner and Magda lost sight of him. Had he entered the maze somehow? Was a garden enclosed within its shade?

Magda stopped short to get her bearings and reconsider following the footman any further, but before she could form a cogent thought, someone twisted her arm behind her back. Magda cried out in shocked pain, but a hand clapped her mouth shut. She started to hyperventilate and writhe as she realized what was happening, the prevalent word in her mind being _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ How could she have been so foolish to leave the ball with a stranger and tell no one where she was going?

The footman’s voice, sharpened and spoken into her ear, sent a wicked shudder from the top of her head to the base of her spine.

“Stop wriggling. It won’t hurt if you let me do this quietly.”

He pulled the twisted arm sharply as he wrenched her towards the wooded borders of the lawn. Magda tripped out of her shoes, and her half-formed escape plan to smash his foot under her heel vanished. She had one free hand—could she pull his clamped hand free of her jaw and call for help? With the strength of the arm that contorted hers, that seemed unlikely. She looked around as much as his fixed grip on her head would allow, and there was no one in sight. Magda decided to stop struggling against him and pretend to faint, which may at least buy her time to loosen his grip and escape.

The moment Magda decided to relax all her muscles, the footman let her go—or rather, he was wrested from her by an unknown hand, and she dropped heavy to the ground all at once. Magda scrambled to sit up and regain some sense of an elegant comportment, but this was impossible to do in her state: scraped elbows, damp stocking feet, a torn gown, disheveled hair, and spitting grass out of her mouth. She looked up to find people standing and staring, scattered at varied distances about the lawn with the light of the stairs at their backs, but none of them were looking at her. They were all looking at the wide-eyed footman and the absolutely livid Mr. Barris.

 _“What the_ hell _are you doing?”_

Everyone froze at the frightening sound of his voice, more of a snarl than a shout.

He bunched the footman’s collar in one fist. The other hung half-drawn at his side.

 “I am not on trial yet, sir.”

Magda did not know how the footman managed to joke under such circumstances, but he was likely a professional. His jibe was good enough to send Mr. Barris’ fist flying into his temple. A ripple of awe rolled back over the rapt audience at the gruesome sound of impact, and the footman crumpled to the ground like so much black fabric when Mr. Barris released his grip on his starched shirtfront. He took a shaky breath and turned to survey the assembly for the host, who quickly rushed to the front line.

“Let’s put him in the greenhouse. We can’t let him go free when he comes to,” he said, calmer now but with a voice ragged from his fury.

Magda saw Mr. Barris briefly grit his teeth and flex his hand—as good as the punch was, he clearly wasn’t used to it. Absurdly, this endeared him to her even more, and she found herself biting a smile. The feeling fizzled in a moment when he turned his back to her and started walking away and the crowd simply gawked at her or began trickling off, leaving her to pull herself up from the ground—but the warmth returned in an instant when she realized he had walked away to retrieve her shoes, and he held them out to her without making eye contact, as if she looked indecent. Magda accepted them with an unsteady hand.

“I cannot say how to thank you—”

“Think nothing of it.”

That was a command, and Magda closed her mouth. He turned and strode off towards the host, struggling to pull the footman’s unconscious body off the ground. Together they pulled the man up by his armpits and pulled him off into the night, for unspoken purposes Magda dreaded to contemplate.

 

That night, Magda had a dream.

She was back at the ball, back in the dark garden made even darker by the disorientation of dreaming.  The footman managed to pull her deep into the thick of the forest, and though now she could scream, nobody heard her, and in his confidence that he would succeed, the footman made no motion to muffle her cries. The black night clouded her eyes so she could not tell tree from starless sky, and Magda felt the point of his knife on her throat.

She melted through the footman’s grasp and fell heavy to the ground again, just as before, and the landing on the forest floor was harder than on the lawn, tearing through her stockings and her forehead. A moss patch on a root rubbed her cheek. She tried to get up just as before, but her limbs and head felt heavy and disjointed from her body. Magda accepted surrender to inertia—but she found herself gently pulled up from the ground and sat up against the trunk of a tree. She still could not see, but she could feel a hand softly brush debris from the gash on her forehead. It stung a little, but she trusted the touch completely, and she relaxed into its broad palm when the hand pushed into the roots of her hair to cradle her head. Magda anticipated being pulled into a shoulder and held there, or picked up bodily from the ground, or something else—but the hand and its warmth vanished all at once, and the darkness parted from Magda’s eyes in time for her to see the tails of Mr. Barris’ coat as he left her alone again in the copse.

She jolted awake with the feeling of falling and reached up to touch her forehead. There was no wound. There was no hand but her own. Angry and disappointed, with the denial of comfort within her dream and with herself for imagining it, Magda rolled over in bed to look at the moonlight coming in her window.

Who was that man who tried to kill her—and who was the man who saved her? Magda felt she did not know either of them. In their two weeks of written exchanges before tonight, she had not seen Mr. Barris in person since their conversation on the balcony (and the days passed so slowly between each letter!), but in their gradually blossoming friendship, he had surprised her with his gentleness and concern for others. He did often appear bad-tempered and aloof to those who did not know him, but Magda was sure that their intimacy had revealed his truer self. And yet after acting with such violence on her behalf, he barely said four words to her, and none of concern for her well-being.

But why did she expect such a gesture from him? To this point, five letters have passed between them. Did that constitute a friendship? Perhaps he thought her foolish now after realizing that she was bold enough to insert herself into dangerous situations which were truly not her business, but not worldly-wise enough to avoid leaving a ball with a perfect stranger. She had never seen the footman before with any Sakan; what had made her trust that this one was attending Mr. Barris? Did she simply desire any possible excuse to see him that she could make?

Fuming with a sickly mixture of contradictory emotions, Magda threw off the bedcovers. Something had to be done if she wanted to sleep any longer tonight. The stolen inkwell, quill, and parchment were stashed in the same drawer as her matches—she could write the response Mr. Barris deserved and wait until morning to send it.

 

By virtue of her near-death experience, Magda was allowed to sleep in the next morning, but the Ellenstein house received a visitor.

“I can wake her and she can be down quickly if you are willing to wait a moment,” Lady Eliza said in her usual clipped tone, betraying nothing of her intent interest.

“No, it’s perfectly alright—I’ve written a letter that explains everything, you needn’t rouse her for my sake.”

Lady Eliza’s sharp gaze flitted briefly to the massive bouquet of flowers, said letter nestled inside. “It’s no trouble. She’s recovered quickly enough. Maryanne, if you will go and rouse Lady Magda for me?”

The maid bobbed her head and rushed upstairs, making no effort to hide her eagerly anticipatory look the moment she turned her back. Having snuck glimpses at Magda’s opened letter many times, she had constructed a story in her head and had already chosen the color scheme of their wedding: blue, like Magda’s eyes, and the Sakan rose red. Lady Eliza and Mr. Barris made idle chat while they waited for Magda to greet them in the parlor, nothing about the incident the night before, and Lady Eliza noted his restless leg. Mr. Barris cast frequent glances towards the staircase, and though he could still make an intelligent answer to Lady Eliza, his mind was clearly somewhere five feet above his head.

Maryanne returned in twenty minutes and said in her best formal voice, “Lady Ellenstein, sir,” and Magda followed, resplendent. Her loose hair still held the waves of the braid she wore while sleeping, and she had thrown a dressing gown atop her loose morning dress. In her hurry, her cheeks were flush from exertion, and when she realized who the visitor was (for Maryanne had not told her), she stopped short on the stairs and the shade deepened all the way to her temples. Magda descended the staircase and made her curtsey somewhat shakily, unable to make eye contact as she spoke.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Barris…I had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Without a doubt, Lady Ellenstein.”

She made no reply, knowing her face would not betray her to one who did not know her mind, but felt all the worse for its burning.

“What brings you here this morning, Mr. Barris?” asked Lady Eliza, still eyeing the bouquet.

“I wished to inform Lady Ellenstein of the…unusual circumstances related to the incident last evening.” He turned to Magda, a solemn look on his face. “The man posing as a footman was found dead this morning.”

The image of Mr. Barris dragging the limp body of the footman to the greenhouse flashed across her mind. “That’s dreadful…how did it happen?”

“The cause of death is still under investigation, but there was no obvious external wound.”

Magda remembered well the sound his knuckles made against the footman’s skull—everyone within twenty-five feet heard the blow. She kept her tone cool. “That is quite strange. Where was he found?”

“An alley in the slums. Likely fleeing to the place from which he was sent.” Mr. Barris cleared his throat. “I am sorry to talk of such a grim subject in the early morning, Lady Eliza.”

“No, that is alright,” she said, and looked nearly disappointed by the outcome. “If you would prefer to speak with my daughter in private—”

“Only if you would not mind it. I must ask Lady Ellenstein a few questions pertinent to the investigation of the incident last evening.”

Magda was unsure if she felt glad or afraid to be left alone with him, but Lady Eliza left regardless, and she turned back to look warily at Mr. Barris, standing in her parlor in his judge’s robes. He managed a sympathetic half-smile, which unsettled her.

“Perhaps we should sit down?”

Magda nodded, and they took seats opposite each other on the facing couches. As her mother for so long instructed, Magda did not let her back touch the seat.

“So…you are working right now, Mr. Barris?” she asked gently, glancing over the robes.

“Yes, I am.” He spoke very slowly, each word taking some time to find its way out. “As the impostor footman is dead, you are now my primary witness.”

“I see.”

Magda felt horrible guilt. Not just upon herself, for willingly entering such a risky bargain, but for suspecting anything ill of Mr. Barris—and she could not refute her persistent and terrible desire to inspire his confidence, to _please_ him, despite this.

Mr. Barris leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees with his hands folded in front of him, and took a moment before looking back up at Magda. “Something perfunctory first before I take your statement, Lady Ellenstein—do you swear to tell the truth?”

Magda met him immediately, two speakers within the same line of verse. “I swear.”

“Had you seen that footman before last night?”

His eyes betrayed genuine concern, and Magda knew she was going to disappoint him. “I had not.”

“Why did you leave the ball with him?”

Magda took a long breath and held it before she began. “He had said…I was seeking information about the situation regarding the archaic Ellenstein claim to the land underneath the Sky Church, and your nephew suggested that I look for you. And the footman said that he was one of your attendants and he knew where you were, if I would follow him.”

Mr. Barris sighed and pushed a hand back through his hair. Magda felt like the most pitiable creature in the world, staring at the top of his head with pleading eyes.

“I know it was foolish of me to go. I—I do not normally behave with such recklessness,” she added, and he lifted his head and straightened his back.

“I don’t mean to shame you, Lady Ellenstein, though I do wish you had been more careful. But this was not your fault.” He looked down at his hands, rested on his knees. “…I regret that you took such a risk based upon your trust in me.”

Magda felt a simple sting in her heart, an ache which tied a string between it and the guilty droop of Mr. Barris’ low voice. “No, it was my fault—I should have assessed the situation rather than placing blind trust in a strange man I’d never met. Or I could have let someone know where I was going, one of my own attendants—Mother sent me with two to try and keep me safe, and my own gullibility won the night.”

He looked up curiously. “Why did your mother take such care with you? Has something like this happened before?”

“Well, in fact…”

Magda explained the threatening letter and the vase/handkerchief and how she believed the two to be connected. “But I didn’t say anything because I wished to press forward in my own investigation. Which naturally, I now regret. I should have enlisted help instead of trying to carry on without it.”

Mr. Barris sat stock-straight as he listened, cogs whirring behind his eyes. “The footman—I feared—I assumed he had targeted you for some other purpose.”

Magda’s stomach turned. She had connected the events so quickly she had not even thought of that possibility.

“But he is almost certainly connected to the Paolas.”

Magda tread carefully in her sentence. “I cannot prove it, but I did assume that the footman was there because of my meddling with the Sky Church land sale. But I don’t feel confident making any kind of accusation—”

“You don’t have to. You stated the truth of the sequence of events in the past week as you experienced them. But you have been a great help to me, Lady Ellenstein.”

At last they were able to hold each other’s eyes, and Magda forgot her misgivings about the fate of the footman-assassin.

“I’m grateful to be of help. And I am glad to see you again.”

Mr. Barris rose suddenly and crossed to the table in the foyer—and picked up the rose bouquet, which Magda had walked past without even noticing. He thrust it towards her with a look of constipated embarrassment and spoke to the floor. “Forgive my presumption, but…I brought these as an apology for my ghastly behavior towards you last evening.”

The roses, a beautiful spray of corals and pinks, radiated a lovely fragrance. Magda tenderly took hold of the bouquet and tried not to think of the hand that held it as it had appeared to her in the dream. “Are these…?”

Mr. Barris blinked, surprised that Magda had remembered. “Uh, yes. They are from our garden.” He cleared his throat again. “I also wished to offer myself as your escort today.”

“My escort?” Magda flushed pink all at once. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well—if you are a target of the Paolas, they may well attempt another attack if they learn you are still alive. If there is some way to catch them in the act…” He returned his gaze to Magda’s upturned face and seemed to falter there. “I want to ensure your protection, Lady Ellenstein. Only with the permission of your mother, but if you will consent to it, I would be indebted to you. It would ease my guilt of endangering you, even if indirectly.”

Magda could not form an answer. The roses made her head foggy and she looked away from his achingly earnest face. Mr. Barris stood sentry by the arm of the couch, hands clasped behind his back, and the two of them could not bear to look at the other.

“You are no fool, Lady Ellenstein. The circumstances of the footman’s death do seem to be…whatever you are thinking of me, I have thought it too.”

Magda’s eyes widened. _So he is aware of it!_

“And after making such a public display last evening, I would understand if you refused my offer. But I wish you to understand that I am prepared to accept my fate once the investigation is complete.”

“Mr. Barris…”

“But until the cause of death is proven, I walk a free man. And it would please me greatly to do you this favor, if you will allow me.”

Magda broke into a beaming smile. “Of course you may escort me, Mr. Barris. It would also please me to go with you to a ball. I—”

Magda nearly told him everything about her irrational anger towards him the night before and the strange dream she had, and how she followed the footman merely on the promise of seeing him. But she lost her words in an instant and thought it best that they died on her lips.

“Well—we haven’t much time to prepare for it, then. You were invited to Senate High Tea this afternoon if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh, that’s at noon today, isn’t it?” Magda leapt upright. “What time is it—oh, never mind telling me, I’ll go now to get ready—please be patient with me, Mr. Barris—oh, I should put these in water,” she said all in one breath, looking confounded at the bouquet in her hands.

Mr. Barris took it carefully from her arms. “I’ll do that. Go get ready.”

 _The Lady’s Handbook_ stated that a woman must always control her facial expressions to keep an air of graceful detachment, because this gave her a mystique that protected her from deceitful men and endeared her to good ones. But Magda had no taste for such a rule, and her face always betrayed her true feeling. She knew she had a simpering smile on her face when she looked up at Mr. Barris, roses folded in his arms, but she felt she could do nothing else without being dishonest. Magda thanked him once again and rushed up the staircase to call for Maryanne, not caring if her behavior was unladylike. Now that everything was settled and her ridiculous angry letter’s points made moot, she felt she could run all the way to the High Tea and beyond that to the ocean, where the waves and wind could pick up her skirts and carry her away into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized as I was writing this monster chapter--we never find out what happens to the assassin. How did he die?? Am I gonna have to solve this mystery myself??  
> I've started obsessing over Old Garden Roses and tried to decide which ones were in the bouquet--Bourbon and Moss roses are known for their scent, enough for Magda to smell without burying her nose in the blossoms. And the color meanings are significant too, though I think Barris chose them unconsciously. Pink is admiration, sweetness, and perfect happiness, and coral is desire.


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed like a statement of mere trite fact to remark that Lady Ellenstein was a radiant girl. Nearly everyone agreed, and those who did not were simply marked as speaking harshly out of jealousy. Half of all Finsel sought the blessing of her word in reply to theirs, an appreciative smile, to take her hand in a dance; whether for personal or political motivations was entirely indistinguishable, because even those not half in love from the beginning could succumb to her effusive charm. Barris knew this. And yet he could not have anticipated how quickly Lady Ellenstein would be swept up by a crowd upon the moment of their arrival, so fluidly that she did not even notice when a noble lady slid herself in beside Lady Ellenstein to take her arm and pull her away to a nearby conversation, taking up the space he once occupied. It was already his habit to feel stupid at parties, but this instance stung. She left laughing about something he could not hear, but he could hear her laugh.

The one great relief of the Senate High Tea was being able to spend a large portion of the time sitting and eating, rather than standing and talking, and talking only to the few people seated nearest you. As his standoffish reputation was well-established, nobody would pressure Barris into conversation if they knew what was good for them, either, and he could sit and half-listen to their idle chatter and think of other things. Time passed agreeably enough this way once the guests were seated at their tables, and though Barris was not seated with Lady Ellenstein, he could see her a table away and watch the back of her head bob up and down as she spoke enthusiastically about something or other, the afternoon sun angled such that her hair caught the light through the large windows.

“Mr. Barris?”

His gaze refocused and shifted slightly down and to the right—it was Alan, the captain of the City Guard, seated beside him at his table and looking gently concerned. He was a member of the civilian City Assembly, not the Senate, but his popularity won him variable favor among minor nobles depending on how many airs they were donning. When Barris first heard of his exploits, he couldn’t believe such a young person with a sweet face would be so bold, but if his relationship with Juven indicated anything, he was stronger than he looked—even if he was tilting his head at Barris like a curious puppy.

“Are you alright? You seem preoccupied.”

Someone at Lady Ellenstein’s table nudged her and she turned her head to look back at Barris, wearing an expression he couldn’t decipher. It looked conflicted—akin to pity, but with something else clouding it. He quickly averted his eyes.

“I am. I apologize if I’m not much for conversation.”

“That’s alright. I heard about what happened last night. Nobody would blame you for being a bit in your own head.” Alan reached for the last neglected scone and put it on his plate, but seemed disinterested in it. “I was surprised you came today, actually. I was surprised to be invited myself, but seeing you here is unusual.”

Barris kept himself from sighing. No place in the world sounded cozier than his desk at that moment. He could be starting research for the Paola case, but instead he was sitting here, staring at Lady Ellenstein for inappropriate lengths of time, trying not to imagine what the whispered conversations about the night before must be saying about him, and picking at the remains of a pastry he couldn’t stomach. “I’m here for Lady Ellenstein’s sake.”

Alan’s voice flattened somewhat, though he seemed unaware of it. “That’s right, you came with her, didn’t you?” He turned to look at the back of her head, thrown back in laughter. She certainly didn’t look like a girl who just survived an assassination attempt. “I’m glad she’s alright.”

They were both staring at Lady Ellenstein now, utterly unaware of what the other people seated at their table were talking about.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Barris confessed, involuntarily. He hadn’t said a word of the guilty thoughts rolling about in his head aloud to anyone. “…I haven’t struck someone since I was a child.”

Alan turned back to look at him, a softly sympathetic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth in a way that irritated Barris, for reasons he couldn’t identify. “I think I know what happened. I would have done the same.”

 

The dishes were cleared away and the guests left to disperse at will or mill about a while longer, and most chose to mill about. The weather grew steadily warmer, but though the sun coming in the open windows warmed the manor with the buttery yellow of the afternoon, nobody seemed eager to migrate out-of-doors. Barris was alone in the half-cool air, then, and it cleared his head—at least there was less noise inside his ears to worry about. This was his habit, too: after an extended period of feeling stupid at a party, he escaped the function and went outside. No wonder, then, that Lady Ellenstein immediately believed the footman when he said Barris was in the garden. He very well might have been if the footman had found her at a different time. The Paolas, or whoever arranged the assassination, did their research, and Barris was itching to do his. He stuffed his hands in his pockets beneath his robes to keep from anxiously picking at the skin around his nails.

He needed to start work so he could stop thinking of that night, but perhaps escaping this obsession would be impossible. He hadn’t been _this_ personally involved in a case before. Was it even ethical to allow his continued involvement in the investigation? He may be forced to condemn himself if that man’s death was due to his irrational outburst, no matter the intentions of the would-be assassin. Manslaughter, not murder, and in defense, but still worthy of a considerable sentence, and more than enough to ruin his life. It could be lightened somewhat if called a _crime of passion_ , but this marker felt more damning than any element of the sentence. Any other fool in the city who knew Lady Ellenstein could fall from a crime of passion for her sake, but not Barris. He could not allow such a compromise. He could allow himself to do Lady Ellenstein small kindnesses, like this favor, and whatever became of the investigation would unfold as fate willed it. This would be enough. It would have to be enough.

Barris was developing another habit at parties which compounded into his other habits. Whenever he removed himself from the party and found himself idly thinking of Lady Ellenstein, she would appear shortly afterward. Her soft footfalls followed his thought as surely as the melt after a frost, and she closed the door behind her with a quiet _click_.

“You don’t enjoy parties very much, Mr. Barris.”

He could hear her smiling in the shape of her chiding remark, and realizing it seemed to make a sound within him, something small and still and distant—a single violin sustaining a note, the orchestra hanging on for its resolution. He turned to see her still resting a slender hand on the door, and the rest of the strings rose to meet it; he found himself smiling back.

“I do a poor job of hiding it.”

Lady Ellenstein’s silky skirts swept over the patio as she walked to meet him towards its edge. All the many manor houses in Finsel blurred together easily, but each tried to set itself apart from the others in some insignificant way—this one had a larger green for lawn tennis or croquet, this one had this sort of garden or greenhouse with a different specialty plant species featuring. This particular manor home had little to speak of in those terms from where they stood, as this section of the house ended with the patio, enclosed on all sides by tall green bushes shaped into perfect walls.

“What is the purpose of this alcove? It’s sweet, but there isn’t much of a view,” Lady Ellenstein pondered, glancing around briefly. “It’s very private.”

Barris thought he flushed a bit when he realized she was right, it _was_ very private. Without digging through the shrubbery, nobody could see inside except from within the house itself.

“I believe they once owned dogs they kept in the house and the mistress was afraid to let them outside without fences. So this must have been the, ah…” He glanced at the pavement. Common rough stone, arranged in patterned tiles, but easy to hose clean. What would be a delicate phrase that didn’t sound ridiculous?

Lady Ellenstein laughed brightly. “I think I understand your meaning. What a lovely outdoor chamber pot, then.”

Barris surprised himself with the fullness of his own laugh. “I was thinking something _much_ cruder. I prefer your phrase.”

“I think I prefer _yours_. But my mother would probably spank me like a child if she heard of me swearing.”

“Swear all you like. She’ll never find out from me.”

Their grinning and giggling slowed and softened into a warm silence. Lady Ellenstein looked up at him with the same face she was making at him before from another table, the same pity turning down her fine brows. It confused him immensely. “Are you alright, Mr. Barris?”

He bristled. “What do you mean?”

“You’re worried.”

“I’m worried about _you_.” He said it too quickly, but it was too late to recover himself now. “I’m not sure how you can ask me if I’m alright when you nearly died mere hours ago.”

Lady Ellenstein fell quiet and dropped her eyes. He was too harsh. Barris tried again. “I’ll ask you the same question, then. Are _you_ alright, Lady Ellenstein?”

She stood with her hands folded loosely betwixt each other, playing with her fingers and looking into the middle distance with her mouth drawn tight. “I’m afraid.”

She hadn’t recovered so well after all, then. Dropping her mask cut him to the quick. Barris pulled his hands from his pockets, unsure what to do with them but desiring them free. “I could—if you would allow me, I could continue to escort you out until we know you’ll be safe.”

Lady Ellenstein cut him off. “I will not allow you to do that, Mr. Barris. You have your own affairs.”

Lady Ellenstein _severely_ underestimated Barris’ joy in cancelling plans. “I would be happy to do it.”

She shook her head. “No, I—I cannot let them think I’ve been cowed, and I cannot inconvenience you just to maintain my presence.” She roused herself to look up at Barris again with a willful fire in her look. “I need to be strong if I want to be safe. If they know I’m afraid they can use me.”

He realized that he wanted to take her hand. Instead he folded his arms over his chest and pulled one corner of his mouth into a half-frown. “I don’t doubt the strength of your conviction, Lady Ellenstein. But I am not sure that will be enough to protect you from another attempt on your life if another is issued.”

Lady Ellenstein pressed her fingertips to her lips in thought, to keep her words within her mind and from her mouth. The awful realization that he wanted to touch her coated his throat thickly, and Barris feared he would not be able to speak properly in response for want of resolving it. He knew he could smooth out the rutted ridge between her brows with his own hand because he could imagine it, but the proof of concept seemed at one end of an impassable chasm, the other end being the questionable reality of her skin, and his own.

“Let me think about it some more. I will give you my answer as soon as I can.” She smiled, a bit sheepishly. “I had written you a letter, but this morning I realized that it, ah…I wrote it when I was still cross with you and it was too ungenerous. So I’ll write you a better one.”

Their foolish letters—Barris had left one in the bouquet to explain himself and paled to remember how he had written it in a rather desperate frenzy in the middle of the night, desirous of her forgiveness ‘for being such an ass.’ He spoke very softly. “You had better not read the one I stuffed in that bouquet, then. We were both writing in ill state.”

The tension eased, and they could hear the party again streaming from the open windows. The hired quartet finished out the aching tremble of a sentimental sonata to scattered applause and switched abruptly to a jaunty folk tune that lit Lady Ellenstein’s face with excitement.

“Oh, I love this song! This was one of the first dances my mother taught me when I was still small,” she gushed. “They never play it at any of the formal balls. I haven’t danced it in so long.”

Barris, by all accounts, was a poor dancer. If he attended functions where he knew few people, he would not dance even if urged to do so to account for a lack of leading partners. But this was a kindness he could allow himself to give.

“…Do you still remember it?”

Lady Ellenstein widened her large blue eyes at him in surprise. “I think I remember some of it. Do you know this dance, Mr. Barris?”

“Yes. It’s also been a long time for me, but I learned it once.”

They stood regarding each other for a moment. Both knew the steps, but whether they would _do_ anything about that seemed too large a question to answer, risking detection and humiliation by others and by each other. But to hell with embarrassment; at least this way Barris could take her hand, just to see if it was possible. He extended a hand with an understatedly comical bow, and Lady Ellenstein answered the question: she took it. They drew together, and he felt her spine straighten beneath his fingertips when he put his hand at her waist, running all the way up her vertebrae to pull her head up and meet his eyes. She pressed her fingers intently over his in such a way that Barris forgot what he was doing, and they lost a half measure of music to staring dumbly at one another. But when they collected themselves and took their first steps—Barris forward on the downbeat, Lady Ellenstein back with the mirroring foot—the memory returned to them easily. There was no art to Barris’ style of dancing; he knew the motions and could connect one phase to another fluidly, but Lady Ellenstein outshone him by far. He simply had to place them on the floor and get out of her way. Years of practice and what Barris observed as a genuine enthusiasm for dance lent elegance to her free arm, held straight and pulling her long skirts away from her poised feet, which Barris also watched closely though this was not good dance etiquette—he was terrified he would step on her toes. Whenever he glanced back up at her face, a nervous line forming in his forehead, she was already looking at him sentimentally, which would bewitch him for a moment before he remembered how fragile her ankles looked peeking out from beneath her skirts as she turned, and he would look down again to be sure they were still properly aligned.

The song dragged to its end, and in its final move the lead spins the follow around and around in quick succession. Lady Ellenstein lost her prior tenuous composure and broke into giggling as she twirled with ease and her skirts caught the wind. Her equilibrium tilted, and she pulled tight on Barris’ hand to right herself, swaying with laughter in their empty courtyard as a rousing cheer from the guests inside finished out the band, finally granted leave to pack their instruments and rest. When she could stand again, Lady Ellenstein sighed, deep and happy, “Thank you for indulging me, Mr. Barris.”

“Of course.” He felt the loss of her hand in his sorely and regretted letting it go. “I wish it could have been a better dancer that met with you here, but—”

Lady Ellenstein clasped her hands together earnestly. “Oh no, I thought you were wonderful! I had _so_ much fun doing this with you.”

 _I’m sure she says that to everyone_ , he thought, bitter words from the cynical back of his mind. But even if she did, her charm could not be artifice. She risked too much in being so forthwith to put on earnestness as an affectation. Lady Ellenstein disarms you with kindness you don’t anticipate and a smile ready to burst forth light from her face at any second. Who could not commit a crime of passion for that?

 

* * *

 

 

“You _offered yourself_ to Lady Ellenstein?”

“As her _escort_ ,” Barris growled, refusing to make eye contact with Juven across his desk. He really ought to install a lock on his study door, but somehow, he knew it would do him scant good. The niece and nephew have their ways.

“That doesn’t remove any connotations.” Juven was always catlike in appearance, not overly tall but long-limbed and languid, and seated sprawling in the facing office chair, he looked unbearably smug—a bored cat pulling the mouse by its tail, giving it a few inches, and slamming its paw down on it again. “In perpetuity?”

Barris sighed and shoved the pen back into the inkwell. He couldn’t write with distractions as flagrant as this. “I suggested it. For her own safety. I’m still waiting on her answer.”

“I think she said yes!” Barbara piped from the hallway. She stuck her head in the study, opened letter in hand. “Though I can’t read her handwriting very well.”

Barris’ knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair. “How many times have I told you to _stop reading my letters_?”

Barbara stuck out her chin in defiance and thrust the letter over the desk. “You never talk to us about anything! How am I meant to know what’s going on?”

“I can’t discuss cases until they’re closed. It’s unethical.”

“Oh, I don’t read _those_ letters. Don’t care a word for what’s in them.” Barbara held a second, unopened letter and pushed this across the desk, too, to prove her innocence. “I’ll open things in a lady’s handwriting, though.” Barbara’s eyes shone with impatience. “ _Lady Ellenstein_! You _must_ tell us about her.”

Julian nodded in agreement. Barris flicked his gaze between them both, and he could feel the walls closing in around the three of them. “…What’s to tell?”

“Do you like her?” Juven scoffed at himself. “Of course you do. You volunteered to go to parties for her sake.”

“Everyone likes her,” Barris grumbled. “You both favor her.”

“Well, yes, but _you_ liking someone is very different.” Barbara tipped her ponderous gaze towards the ceiling. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit to _liking_ anyone. You respect people, but you don’t like them.”

“Do you _respect_ Lady Ellenstein, then?” Juven prodded.

Barris stuttered at the pointed question. It bothered him that he wasn’t doing the interrogating, and in many ways these two were cleverer questioners than he was. “Well—of course. She’s very respectable. It’s tough work trying to re-enter the Senate and she’s about to break the record for the most rapid family recovery in Finsel.”

Juven leaned over to Barbara and mock-whispered, _He’s been researching her_ , which made Barris want to reach for the inkwell and pour it over Juven’s arrogant blond head. Instead he grabbed the pen and pointed it accusingly at his interrogators.

“If either of you had a fraction of her dedication, the Sakans could be respectable people.”

“We do work—we may not have such a perverse obsession with it as you do,” Juven quipped, but Barris could tell he’d gotten under his skin with that remark. He needed to keep digging if he wanted them out of his office.

“I fail to see how openly neglecting responsibilities and generating ceaseless gossip constitutes work.”

“You’re not free from gossip yourself,” Barbara snapped. She was reddening with fury, but she stood firm in a pose of miniscule righteousness, tiny fists clenched. “What happened to that assassin after you had your way with him? And why are you so involved with Lady Ellenstein now? What do you mean to gain by all this?”

She’d been spoiled rotten by running free through the forest whenever she liked. How could she be so insolent to pick at such subjects without thought? “ _What are you implying?_ ”

“Barbara, that’s enough,” Juven said, rising from his chair. “You told me you didn’t believe those rumors.”

She softened. “No. I don’t.” Barbara turned back to Barris with a stubborn frown, almost pouting like she did when she was still a toddler. “But you’re not the _perfect man_ of our family everyone believed you to be anymore. And you have no right to condescend to us!”

Barris thrust the pen back into the inkwell and rose, drawing himself up. “I’m not sure what you want from me, but I am still the eldest. And you are a child.” He looked pointedly at Juven. “Or you simply carry yourself as a child. You either stubbornly refuse decent people come to call or live in a state of perpetual rakish flirtation to put off your growing-up. And until I see you mature, I _will_ condescend to you both. Leave me to my work.”

For all their squabbles, the Sakans rarely fought with substantial blows, but now Barris could see the hurt in their eyes, and he regretted speaking so bluntly. But he’d already committed to his words, so they regarded each other in tense silence. Barbara withered, but Juven fumed, and he spat something cold he’d been building up in his mind for a long while.

“Strange that you presume to tell us how to be respectable when _you’re_ just as much a Sakan as anyone before you. You’re a confirmed bachelor. Married to _the law_. You’ve not had a mature relationship in any sense. If you’re the eldest, then you should have been the first to settle down—but perhaps you’ve avoided it out of lack of any tender feeling. I’ve always suspected it, given how little you spare for your kin.”

Barris paled with anger. He kept his voice level and low. “I’ve sacrificed much for the sake of the family.”

Juven laughed once, sharp and unrelentingly malicious. “What? Tell me what you’ve sacrificed. You work for yourself and none other. You’ve done _nothing_ for us.”

“ _Get out_.” Barris hoped his stare would burn a hole in Juven so he would suffer some kind of consequence for once in his life. “ _Both of you, get out_.”

 

* * *

 

 

To: Barris Sakan

From: Dr. Adrien Sover, Coroner at the Finsel Ministry of Justice

Mr. Barris Sakan,

I have finished examining the body of the assassin discovered behind the Calypso Brothel on the evening of __ _______, ____. The body has not been identified and no one has yet come to claim it. As of writing this letter, there are three days left for the body to be spared the fate of the mass grave. The man’s origins are unknown, but I have determined cause of death with reasonable certainty. He was poisoned orally with cyanide. Whether administered by himself or by someone else, the death was deliberate and likely administered shortly after your encounter with him, less than three hours after you released him. His body showed no other signs of trauma or struggle aside from minor scrapes, likely made by branches while running away through the forest. I did examine his head for signs of hemorrhage but found no evidence of injury major enough to be deadly—at most a concussion, which usually cannot kill, and cannot kill faster than the poison that did kill him in the end.

A personal note: I am glad that my report will remove suspicion from you, Mr. Barris. You are a good man and I should not have liked to see you fall for such a case. Meet me as soon as you can for the official coroner’s report to add to this file, since this notice will be illegitimate. I sent this letter to set your mind at ease.

Dr. Adrien Sover

 

To: Barris Sakan

From: Lady Magda Ellenstein

Dearest spirit friend,

I will waste no time in giving you my answer: yes, you may be my escort until the case is solved, but know that you are free to refuse at any time should you need that hour in the day for official business, and in no way do I expect you to come with me to every event. Attached is a copy of my social calendar for the foreseeable future. I frankly have no idea how you can do me this service and continue the investigation all at the same time, because I could not manage that! You are quite a capable person, but I do urge you to take care of yourself.

I must confess something to you as well. You told me not to read the letter you put in the bouquet, but curiosity overwhelmed me, and I did. Do please forgive me. I’m really not sure why I felt so angry with you when I wrote my own bad letter to you, but I so wanted to know what was going through your head that night (and admittedly, reading your apology eased my residual discomfort). I think through seeing your responses to things, I can better understand my own emotions, and it did bring me some comfort to see that neither of us had our heads on straight. I want to speak frankly with you about so many things, but I lack the words and comprehension. Maybe when all this has passed, I will finally know what it means and will finally know how to talk about it with you. I very much want to. I can say that for all the confusion that the night before stirred up within me, dancing with you meant more to me than you may realize. I know you don’t care much for dancing, just as you don’t care much for parties, and the fact that you tolerate both on my behalf flatters me.

I am wholly exhausted and should start preparing for bed, but I have one more thing to say before I put down the pen tonight, or I fear I’ll never say it: whatever the outcome of the case, I am grateful for all you’ve done for me by listening to me, answering my questions, engaging with me, and stepping in on my behalf. Much of the time I feel vapid, inexperienced, and miserable, caught between trying to prove myself to people who doubt me and doubting myself when other people praise me—but even in this small time of knowing you, I feel you have seen my mind when others have not. It feels too bold to say such things to you, and I stopped myself from sending words I wrote in anger, so perhaps I should be more careful in my pronunciations here as well, but I don’t want to censor myself now. I speak with a conviction that roots my feet to the earth, not a whim that carries me on a breeze towards folly, and the words I say now feel truer than those I wrote before. (I hope that this little speech will seem melodramatic to us both later, but I want you to have proof of my gratitude in an article you can keep and reference if ever you doubt your impact.)

I suppose that I will see you very soon, perhaps even before you retrieve this letter. That is quite strange! I will still say I hope this letter finds you well, even though I will have already asked you. It’s good to make sure a person is still well at a different time of day. Much can change in the span of a few hours. I feel myself change within a moment nearly every day! Now I’ve devised a thought experiment—if you asked the people in your life how they were faring multiple times within the day, and they were obligated to answer with complete honesty, how many variable responses could one expect from an individual on average?

I am not sure what time of the day you will open this letter, but I am writing it by the light of a taper facing a dark window. It feels like I am tiptoeing down the hallway to the room you occupy to tap lightly on the door and bid you goodnight in a whisper just loud enough for you to hear. But I should not be sitting and imagining the things I need to do for myself. Time to blow out the candle.

Your spirit friend,

Lady Magda Ellenstein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this tiny peek inside his head! The dance scene took me forever to write, so I watched the Laender scene from The Sound of Music and Andrei and Natasha's waltz in the BBC War and Peace like 10 times each trying to evoke something. It feels like the chapters are just getting longer as things develop, and time is slowing down, too.


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